


Without You

by fearfrost1211



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, First Time, Frottage, M/M, Post Season 2 AU, So it's not really a PWP, Touch-Starved, but kinda, i guess, there are feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2017-02-09
Packaged: 2018-09-23 04:46:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9641306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fearfrost1211/pseuds/fearfrost1211
Summary: Half a choked laugh boils up out of him. He had sex with Derek Hale.Sex.With Derek.He's never going to be able to shower in the locker room again.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This has been sitting half finished in my drafts for months. It has the potential to become something of a one-shot series, but could also survive as a stand alone. I guess we'll see! It is completely un-betaed. Enjoy!

The house is dark and quiet. There are times the stillness of it sits like a rock in his chest, sets his skin crawling, but not tonight. Tonight he's glad for it and makes his way up the stairs to the bathroom without so much as turning on a light.

In the pitch black of the bathroom, he still doesn't reach for the switch. He just stands in front of the sink, eyes wide, wondering what he'll see in the mirror when he does turn it on. Will he look any different? He knows realistically that there will be no physical manifestation of the chaotic mass of emotions roiling inside him. No sign that things have suddenly changed for him. In him. No outward marks. Unless...

A phantom touch of fingers digging into his hips jolts him out of his reverie and Stiles all but lunges for the switch. The artificial light is like an assault on his senses after so long in the dark, but he keeps moving. Closing the door quickly, twisting the lock even though he's completely alone, he rips off his shirt and pushes the waist of his pants down. He turns this way and that to glance himself from all sides and there they are. Bruises. Faint red and purple splotches that definitely resemble splayed fingers bracketing his hips. He turns again to face himself head on and there are two darker bruises just over his hipbones. Nestled in the V where his thighs meet his torso. 

He has to grip the sink when he remembers Derek's thumbs digging in.

Dragging in a shaky breath, he meets his own gaze in the mirror. There's a bit of stubble burn around his neck and shoulders, but he can't be bothered to inspect it as his eyes land on the perfect half circle bruise just above his collar bone. It didn't break the skin, but the bruise is spectacular and he knows if he turns there's an identical half moon visible from the other side.

Half a choked laugh boils up out of him. He had sex with Derek Hale.

_Sex._  

_With Derek_.

He's never going to be able to shower in the locker room again.  


**_Two hours earlier..._ **  


Derek is nearly dead weight against his side as Stiles stumbles them through the locker room doors. The Alphas had struck hard and fast. One minute he and Derek had been patrolling, nothing going on, and the next those twin Alpha douches had been all over Derek. Throwing Stiles aside like he wasn't a threat had been a mistake on their part. One Stiles had been happy to use to his advantage, but they'd still managed to shred most of Derek's torso before the wolfsbane pepper spray and rowen baton Stiles kept concealed ran them off.

They'd been near the lacrosse field towards the end of their nightly loop so Stiles hefted Derek up and got them inside. There was still two weeks of summer break left before Stiles’s junior year started and he knew no one would be in the building. Once he dumped Derek onto the closest bench, he stepped up on the bench, hauled himself up on top of a set of lockers against the wall, and reached on top of one of the exposed metal beams to grab the old coffee can he kept there.

"What is that?" Derek wheezes, eyeing the metal tin in Stiles's hand.

"Mountain ash." Stiles replies flailing a little to keep his balance when his feet hit the floor. At Derek's surprised expression, he simply shrugs and opens the lid starting to block the doors. "Since this whole thing started and Deaton started training me a little...with the whole spark thing, I keep stashes all over the place."

Stiles works quickly then and quiet descends on the dim room, broken only by the little gasps Derek lets slip as his skin knits back together. Once he's satisfied that no supernatural baddies are going to bust in, Stiles turns back to find Derek hunched over and panting. "Uh, how's the healing, man?"

He approaches cautiously because a wounded wolf is always more unpredictable than a healthy one and a wounded Derek is an especially volatile quantity.

"I think," Derek's voice is strained and his eyes flash red, "there's something embedded in my back."

"O-okay." Stiles stutters. Then moves quickly to stand behind Derek setting the can of mountain ash down on the bench. His hands just hover over the several big gashes making up the bloody mess of skin and fabric. Stiles cringes and breathes shallowly willing himself not to throw up.

"Stiles...whatever it is you have to get it out or my skin will heal over it then it'll have to be cut out." Derek rasps.

"I can't even see...." And Stiles suddenly feels lost. What is he supposed to do? Just stick his hands into Derek's back and hope for the best? He and Derek have been on better terms since the whole kanima thing. They seem to always end up paired together now that everyone finally decided to get their heads out of their asses and work together, but this...he feels like he's back in the vet's office, Derek half dead and snarling in his face telling Stiles to cut his fucking arm off.

"Shower." Derek grits out then shifts forward and Stiles hops over the bench sliding his hands under Derek's armpits to keep him upright. Stiles maneuvers them into the shower and leaves Derek leaning heavily against one wall while he fiddles with one of the dials to get a lukewarm spray going. Derek takes a clawed hand and just tears away what's left of his shirt.

Turning to Derek, Stiles grimaces at the state of his torso and also the blood and grime caked and drying on his pants. Derek is looking at him with a similar expression. "I have some sweats and stuff in my locker if you want to chalk it up to a lost cause." Derek just grunts then toes off his boots kicking them back out of the shower and pushes his jeans down over black boxer briefs. Knowing he'll get soaked too, Stiles quickly strips his own socks and shoes and shirt.

Any other time and Stiles would be hard pressed not to stare, but there's nothing sexy about the state Derek's in - pain lines etched into his face and sweat, dirt, and blood streaking his skin. Stiles moves forward hands landing lightly on Derek's shoulders to gently push him under the shower head. A low growl rumbles up from Derek's chest at the first hit of the spray, but he keeps moving forward bracing his hands on the wall and letting his head fall forward, exposing the expanse of his back to Stiles. And Stiles still doesn't think he'll ever get used to that. The way Derek will just trust him with things like this...especially when he seems to have such a hard time trusting anyone else 

"Do it, Stiles." He says so low that Stiles wonders if he imagined it, but jumps into action anyway grabbing a bar of soap and starting to scrub away the filth around the gashes and trying not to look at the rivulets of red running down Derek's legs.

Some of the gashes are already healed or well on their way, but there's one just under Derek's right shoulder blade beside his tattoo that is still seeping and looks deeper than the rest. Stiles shuffles in closer until he's almost plastered to Derek and puts his hands on Derek's hips to turn him more into the light. The movement puts the spray directly into the large gash and Derek hisses.

"Sorry, sorry!" Stiles says quickly going to move Derek again, but he catches a glint of something in the open wound. "I think I see it. Hold still."

"I'm trying." Derek growls out, body tense as the water continues to pour directly over the wound.

Stiles braces himself and reaches in, gags at the feel of slick tissue, and grabs for the metallic glint he saw a moment ago. He can feel Derek shaking where his other hand has a firm grip on the alpha's shoulder. Stiles can just barely get his thumb and forefinger on the edge of the object it's buried so deep. "Jesus, it's really in there." He mutters, mostly to himself.

Derek answers with a growl that's way more wolf than human. "Get it out of me."

With a deep breath, Stiles pushes his fingers farther into the meat of Derek's back, cringes at the noise Derek can't seem to hold back, and manages to get enough grip to pull. It comes slow at first and Stiles panics, thinking it's embedded in bone or something, but then with another tug it slips free so quickly Stiles loses his balance and almost falls on his ass. Stiles looks down for just a moment to see that it's a blade maybe three inches long, broken off with no handle. Just then Derek starts to slump, Stiles tosses the still bloody blade aside and wraps an arm securely around Derek's waist and pulls him so Derek's back is firmly against Stiles's chest.

"I'm ok." The alpha pants leaning back into Stiles. "I just need a minute. What was it?"

"Some kind of blade. Looks like it broke off at the handle." Stiles says then leans back to watch the gash knit closed now that the foreign material has been removed. Stiles frowns at the whole new streak of blood removing the blade created and how it's now smeared all over both of them.

He shuffles forward and leans Derek against the wall again then goes ahead and removes his own ruined pants and tosses them out of the shower. "Ok big guy, let's finish cleaning you up." He says and lathers up the soap again. Derek is quiet against the tile as Stiles presses his hands against his skin. Stiles is careful and meticulous, mesmerized as the suds go from ruddy to pink to white with each lather and rinse. He's not sure why he's doing this or why Derek is letting him other than he needs to feel the skin under his hands now that it's healed. Needs to feel that Derek is whole again. 

He gets a little lost in it. The only sounds the water sheeting down, sluicing over Derek's body, and their quiet breathing. When Stiles's hands move to scrub at a patch of stubborn mud on Derek's side there is suddenly a large hand gripping his. Stiles freezes and Derek turns still keeping hold of Stiles's hand. Stiles can't read the look on his face as he takes the soap from Stiles and starts to lather it. He looks better. There's color back in his cheeks and Stiles can't help but grin at the way his hair is plastered to his forehead. An image of Derek soaking wet and paralyzed flashes through his mind. It feels like a lifetime ago. Still, he often associates that night as the beginning of their weird, tentative whatever they have...friendship? Camaraderie? Partnership? Stiles jokes that the pack is like the supernatural police force of Beacon Hills. No one seems to agree with him.

Slick hands break him out of his thoughts. Derek's apparently turned them around because there's now a wall behind Stiles's back and Derek's hands are moving over his chest and abdomen. His breath catches and he wishes he'd left his jeans on. The soaking fabric of his Star Wars boxers aren't going to hide a thing and there is definitely going to be a _thing_ to hide if Derek's hands keep sweeping over his skin. Stiles swallows and looks up to see Derek watching him intently.

The hand resting on his stomach dips down just beneath the waistband of his boxers then slides back up.

"Derek?" Stiles hears the hitch in his voice. Knows that his skin betrays his reaction to the simple touch as a flush covers his body.

Derek leans in and there's a tinge of red marring the hazel around his pupils. He drags his nose from the apple of Stiles cheek to just behind his ear, lips brushing over skin. "Do you want this?"

Stiles knows that Derek already knows the answer, knows Derek can smell it, has been able to smell it every time they've been together over the last few months. Stiles is frozen, unable to move with Derek's mouth on his skin, barely able to breath. "Y-you know I do." he finally rasps.

Some desperate noise escapes Derek's throat and he slides forward pressing a thigh between Stiles's legs and bringing their wet torsos into contact. Derek's hands fall on either side of Stiles's face gripping to tilt his head and Derek's mouth is just suddenly there, sealing over his. It's almost too much - too much sensation - the cold wall solid against his back, the burning heat of Derek to his front. He's pretty sure his brain shorts out for a moment. Then a tongue swipes against the seam of his lips and suddenly everything snaps back to focus. Derek is thumbing his jaw, moving Stiles how he wants him and licking in as quickly as Stiles opens for him.

Stiles has kissed a couple people and it's always been enjoyable, but nothing could have prepared him for kissing Derek Hale. It's almost savage at first - all tongue and teeth - then Derek pulls back slightly and meets Stiles's eyes. His pupils are blown wide much like Stiles assumes his own are. The hands cupping his jaw slide down and around, one settling around Stiles's waist while the other dips to caress the curve of his ass beneath his boxers. Stiles gasps and the lips are back then, quieter this time, but no less intense. Derek kisses him like he needs Stiles to survive - pressing sure and delving deep - and Stiles goes boneless.

At some point, though he couldn't say when, he'd brought his hands up to rest on Derek's waist. He slides them up now wrapping his arms Derek's shoulders and buries his fingers in the soft hair at the back of Derek's head pulling just a little.

Derek rumbles against him and slides the arm around Stiles's waist down to join the hand already in his boxers. He pushes them down trailing open mouthed kisses along Stiles's throat as he goes. They fall, heavy with water and Stiles moves to step out of them reaching down to shove at Derek's boxer briefs as he does. Derek helps and they fumble back against the wall fully naked. They swallow each other's groans at the feel of their erections rubbing together pressed tightly between their bodies.

Stiles has to break away and look down - wants to see this, wants to remember it. Derek takes a hand and swipes it through the soap still clinging to Stiles's chest and runs it over both of them. Stiles knows the only thing that keeps him standing is Derek's hand on his hip and the wall at his back. Once they're slick, Derek leans into him, thumbs pressing into Stiles's hip bones, and fingers fanned out over his hips keeping him in place. Stiles wraps his arms back around Derek's shoulders just as Derek rolls his hips up pressing them together.

"Jesus, Derek." Stiles moans at the same time Derek says, "Fucking perfect."

And it is perfect. The slip slide of their cocks against each other. The way Stiles can feel every ridge of Derek’s abs as he slides against him. The way their bodies align with no effort at all. Derek's fingers are bruising where they hold him in place as Derek ruts against him, sending his back scraping against the rough concrete wall with the force of it, and Stiles loves it. His hands are scrambling for purchase on the slick skin of Derek’s shoulders and he’s panting against Derek's mouth, too far gone to really kiss. Derek abandons his mouth to kiss and bite down the side of his throat stopping to pant against the top of Stiles's shoulder.

They're both close. Derek releases one of his hips to snake a hand between them. He wraps them both in one big palm and squeezes. It’s enough to send Stiles over the edge with his next thrust and he nearly sobs with the force of it, burying his face in Derek's hair as the alpha's hips start to stutter. Derek bites down grinding against Stiles and fucking his own hand as his orgasm stripes Stiles’s chest.

Derek collapses against him, teeth still pressed against Stiles’s shoulder, keeping Stiles pinned between the alpha and the wall. Stiles feels his breathing return to normal even as his mind and limbs still feel sluggish. He runs his hands up and down Derek’s back and turns his head so that his nose bumps against the alpha’s ear and drags it along Derek’s cheekbone.

Derek releases his shoulder gently, Stiles doesn’t think he broke skin, and turns his head until his nose bumps Stiles’s. Their gazes lock and hold and Stiles has never seen Derek look like this.

Soft. Open. Vulnerable.

Slowly, he presses forward and brushes their lips together. Derek kisses him back just as gently and then he pulls back taking his body heat with him and Stiles realizes how cold the room has gotten. The nights have gotten cooler the closer they get to September and the shower spray still running beside them probably ran out of hot water a long time ago.

Stiles has a million questions, but they stay stuck in his throat as he watches Derek bend down and grab the black boxer briefs he’d been wearing. He wrings the water out then gently wipes the come from Stiles’s stomach and his own. Then he rinses them and turns off the spray.

Stiles picks up his own boxers to wring them out then bends to grab the blade he dug out of Derek’s back and leaves the shower to go to his locker and find them clothes to wear. He’s glad lacrosse practice has already started regardless of school not yet being in session or they’d have to raid the lost and found box in Coach’s office and hope for the best.

It feels like they’ve entered some sort of silent, fragile bubble, and that scares Stiles because he’s never done well with silent and tends to inadvertently stomp all over fragile. Still, he finds himself holding his tongue. Afterglow fading quickly to the pull of reality despite the elation of Derek allowing him to be so close, at getting to have this as his first sexual experience. The problem is Stiles already knows that he wants more. He’s just afraid that whatever drove Derek to share this with him won’t be enough to keep the wolf from ultimately regretting it - if he doesn’t already.

It takes Derek a minute to come out of the shower and Stiles has already made a small pile of garments on the bench in front of his locker. He’s just pulling on a pair of BHHS sweatpants when Derek comes to a stop in front of him.

“Um-” Stiles’s voice comes out rough and he has to stop and clear his throat. “The sweats should fit you and my practice jersey is a bit big on me so it’ll probably fit fine on you.” He looks up to find Derek staring at his shoulder and the bite throbbing there before looking down and reaching for the sweats he’d indicated. The scowl on Derek’s face doesn’t look any more severe than normal, but Stiles is still disheartened at it’s return.

_Suck it up, Stilinski._ He thinks to himself.

“Thanks.” Derek says as he finishes dressing and goes to put his boots back on. Stiles kicks into gear and pulls on a t-shirt, stuffs his feet into his sneakers, and gathers up all their wet and dirty clothes and throws them into a duffle bag that’s been buried at the bottom of his locker so long it’s probably growing things. Derek is suddenly there, taking the strap of the bag out of his hands and slinging it over his own shoulder.

Stiles nods at him and then goes to dig a broom out of Coach’s office to sweep up the mountain ash he’d used to seal the doors. Once that’s done, Derek sticks his head out and takes a deep breath then gives Stiles the all clear and they head for the parking lot where they’d left the jeep and the camaro hours ago before heading out on their patrol route.

Derek throws the bag into the back of the jeep and turns to face Stiles. “I’m going to check in with everyone else. Make sure no one else got a visit tonight.”

Stiles nods. “That’s probably a good idea. I’ll uh…” He hooks his thumb towards his jeep, “dry your clothes and get them back to you...sometime.” His voice trails off at the end and Derek is looking vulnerable again. It reminds Stiles so much of the look Derek had given him right in this very parking lot after Jackson had kept them trapped in the pool that Stiles swears for a moment he can almost smell chlorine. He’d been cold and damp then, too.

Derek takes a breath and seems to steal himself. “I’ll see you later, Stiles.”

He watches Derek turn and just before he opens the camaro’s door, Stiles just can’t stop himself. He takes a quick step forward, words tumbling out. “Was it something?”

Derek meets his eyes over the camaro’s roof and Stiles continues. “I mean, I know it was something, but was it…” He groans and chews his lip, frustrated that he can’t figure out how to ask what he wants to know. He knows that Derek is probably not really into him, but Derek, who doesn’t let anybody in and trusts no one, just opened himself up - albeit physically, to Stiles. And that’s not nothing. Right?

“I don’t know, Stiles.” Derek’s voice is quiet, but the words bring Stiles out of his own head all the same. “I don’t know.” Derek says again then climbs into the camaro and pulls away.

Stiles stands there staring until the black car stops before it reaches the exit and probably twenty seconds go by until Stiles realizes that Derek is waiting on him. Maybe the alpha doesn’t know what is happening between them, but he cares enough to make sure Stiles gets in the jeep and headed home safely.

Stiles supposes that’s enough for now.

**_Present_ **

The door opening downstairs jars Stiles out of his thoughts and he hears his Dad call up a greeting. Taking a deep breath, he fixes his pants and pulls his shirt back on then walks out into the hallway.

“Hey Dad, I was just getting ready for bed.” Which actually looks totally legitimate given the sweats he’s wearing with hair still damp from the shower.

The Sheriff comes up the steps and reaches out to pull Stiles into a hug. Stiles goes stiff for just a second thinking somehow his dad will know, but the second his dad’s arms are around him all the air just rushes out of Stiles’s lungs. He wraps his own arms tight around his father and lets the warmth and security of his dad’s embrace steady him.

John pulls back and searches Stiles’s face. “You alright, kiddo?”

Stiles feels his lips pull up on one side. “Yeah, Dad, I’m good.” And Stiles is surprised to find that he means it. He is good. Yeah, he has no clue what’s happening with Derek, and they were attacked unprovoked tonight, but he’s okay. “Just a long day. I’m gonna go pass out.”

John purses his lips, but doesn’t seem to doubt him. “Just try to drag yourself out of bed before noon tomorrow, yeah? Maybe we could head to the diner. Have lunch together?”

That puts a full-on grin on Stiles’s face. Things have been so rocky with his dad lately that Stiles will take any kind of normalcy. “Sounds great to me.” Stiles says and turns towards his room.

“Love you, kiddo.”

Stiles grins over his shoulder. “Love you too, Dad.”

Stiles opens his bedroom door as his dad moves into the bathroom. As he shuts his door, he reaches for the light switch and almost passes out when the light reveals Derek leaning against the wall beside his window.

“Holy shit, dude!” Stiles whispers on a harsh exhale, mindful that his father is right across the hall. Stiles suddenly remembers that Derek was going to check on everyone else and a lance of fear spikes through him. “Is everyone ok?”

“Everyone’s fine.” Derek says quietly and he pushes off the wall and moves towards Stiles.

“Are you okay?” Stiles asks, warily. Derek is taking careful steps like he doesn’t want to spook Stiles. Maybe he thinks Stiles’s heart has had enough of a workout for one evening.

Derek doesn’t answer. Just keeps walking until Stiles’s back is pressed against the closed door and Derek’s chest is nearly flush with his. Stiles feels his eyes go impossibly wide and knows Derek can hear his heart racing. Derek’s eyes rake over his face before the alpha lowers his head and presses his nose just under the hinge of Stiles’s jaw, inhaling deep. Warm hands land on his hips only to slide under his shirt and slip strong and sure around to his lower back.

Stiles is frozen. He doesn’t know what to do with this. He just knows that he doesn’t want to screw it up, Derek is just breathing, hot and damp against Stiles’s throat, and he’s just got his arms around Stiles, warm and strong and amazing against the bare skin of his back. Derek is holding him, Stiles realizes with a jolt, possibly taking comfort in him. At that thought, Stiles melts and tentatively lifts his arms to wrap around Derek’s shoulders. When the wolf doesn’t protest, Stiles squeezes his arms tighter, pulling Derek even closer.

Derek shudders for just a moment then slides his arms more firmly around Stiles, hands gripping tightly to the muscles in the younger man’s back.

It’s the kind of embrace that sinks through your skin and settles in your bones and Stiles can’t wrap his head around the _rightness_ of it. Of Derek here and in his arms. Of them wrapped up in each other. Every time he clings tighter the wolf responds in kind, until there isn’t room for air between them and Stiles has to wonder, as he has many times before, just how long has it been since Derek let someone hug him? Touch him at all before today? Stiles buries his face in Derek’s shoulder, against his own jersey Derek is still wearing, and breathes deep.

Derek suddenly pulls one arm out from under Stiles’s shirt and reaches over to kill the light. Stiles lifts his head about to question why when he hears the bathroom door open and his dad step back out into the hall. The sheriff seems to pause for just a moment and Stiles swears all three of them are holding their breath. Then, he hears his dad whisper “Good night, son.” and footsteps heading off in the direction of his dad’s bedroom.

Turning his head, Stiles squints as his eyes adjust to the low light coming through his window and finds Derek staring at him. He looks so much younger like this, Stiles thinks, eyes soft around the edges and lips slightly parted. For a moment, they just look at each other and then Derek leans in and presses the softest kiss against Stiles’s mouth. Derek pulls back and rests their foreheads together and Stiles pulls his hands from Derek’s back to slide along his scruff until he’s cupping Derek’s face. The wolf closes his eyes and nuzzles into Stiles’s palms almost like he can’t help it.

A small smile tugs at Stiles’s lips and before he even thinks about stopping himself, he presses a chaste kiss of his own against Derek’s mouth. “Do you want to sleep?” He asks as he pulls back and Derek nods. Stiles leads him over to the bed and climbs in. Derek pulls off his shirt and kicks off his shoes then he slides in pulling Stiles back firmly into the curve of his body.

Stiles snuggles back into the wolf’s warmth and threads his fingers through Derek’s where they’re resting against his stomach. Just before he drifts off, he feels a kiss press onto the back of his neck. 

***

When he wakes in the morning, Derek is gone, but he finds a post-it stuck to his phone. Stiles can’t hold back his smile.

  
_It’s something._

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr](http://fearfrost1211.tumblr.com/). Come say Hi!


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